


The Morning After

by ninemoons42



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, F/F, Kink: Bodily secretions, Swords & Fencing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-08
Updated: 2011-06-08
Packaged: 2017-10-20 06:01:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/pseuds/ninemoons42





	The Morning After

  
title: The Morning After  
author: [](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**ninemoons42**](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/)  
word count: 589  
fandom: Doctor Who [Matt Smith era]  
pairing: Madame Vastra/Jenny  
rating: PG-13  
notes: This fic features Madame Vastra and Jenny from Doctor Who 6.07, _A Good Man Goes To War_. Mild plot spoilers.  
Written for [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**kink_bingo**](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/). Kink: Bodily secretions. My card is [here](http://ilovetakahana.livejournal.com/111469.html). Also written as my first post to [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/lizardladylove/profile)[**lizardladylove**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/lizardladylove/).

  
When she wakes up on the day after the Battle of Demons Run, it's a little past five in the morning, and the curtains have been thrown wide open.

London is swathed in a damp mist, and she hears the soft crash of a distant rain.

The other side of the bed is empty, as it often is at this time, and there's a black dress and a white pinafore neatly laid out and ready for use.

Vastra permits herself a tight little smile as she strokes the sturdy cloth. Warm smell of soap and baked bread, rough burrs under her fingers as the threads catch on her scales.

She dresses rapidly and stops to make tea before she descends into the basement. The house groans and settles around her, and she picks up the scents of London: coal and pungent oil, unwashed horse and man, fruits and flowers and the steak pies from the shop on the corner.

The door into the basement is closed, but unlocked, and it only takes her a minute to slip in and do up all the locks on the inside of the door.

When she turns around, she smiles.

The lanterns burn low. There is just enough light to see a shadow dancing at the other end of the gallery. A jump, a thrust, a strike from overhead. The shadow steps rapidly from side to side, and she can see the shadow of a well-known sword held in a high guard position. There is a flash as the blade catches the dim light, and then a wild shout, and the lanterns go dark.

Vastra merely blinks. Seeing in the dark is mere child's play for her and she watches, fascinated, as the swordswoman runs through a final set of forms and then executes a perfect sweeping strike. Beat, beat, and the swordswoman brandishes her weapon once, and then there is the loud metallic scrape of a sword being returned to its scabbard.

“Bravo, dear, a flawless performance as always,” Vastra calls softly.

There's a soft answering _clink_ and Jenny walks forward out of the darkness.

And Vastra is suddenly very glad that she is leaning against the wall.

There's a high red flush in Jenny's cheeks. Her smile is brighter than the lantern she's holding in her hand. Her long nightgown falls around her feet as always, the familiar embroidered roses and vines, the carefully-mended rips on the sleeves and around the lace-trimmed cuffs.

And Jenny is sweating.

Vastra watches as a bead of sweat trickles down Jenny's neck.

She has the sudden desire to grab Jenny, to tear yet another set of holes into the nightgown. To inhale the scent of her, to lick up the salt and dirt of her sweat. To sink her teeth into Jenny's pale skin and draw forth the blood, and then to kiss her, with the copper tang still fresh on her tongue. To suck bruises into her sweat-soaked skin, to rake her hands down Jenny's back.

And Jenny's eyes are growing dark, filling with knowledge, and she probably knows exactly what kind of effect she's having on Vastra right now because there is no other explanation for her stepping away and putting the lantern and the sword down on the floor; there is no other explanation for the glitter in her eyes as she pulls at the laces of her nightgown and lets it fall away.

Vastra smiles, and licks her lips, and she laughs when Jenny's sweat-slick hands grab at her shoulders.  



End file.
